


Of Widows and Unfaithful Wives

by siberianRS



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4375547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siberianRS/pseuds/siberianRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's ridiculous, even for him, but the powerful sun might actually be as impish as the moon. And the bastard behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Widows and the Sun

“Hey Zura, why am I with you again?”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”

The sun is starting to hide low on the horizon, blanketed by wispy strokes of feather-white clouds. Katsura is walking ahead of a slouching Gintoki: two able-bodied boys carrying firewood for their neighborhood granny. The white-haired boy trudges determinedly behind his long-haired companion, always keeping at least three steps’ worth of space away from the annoying brat in front of him. Katsura looks back at his schoolmate, brows furrowed in annoyance. He releases a small sigh and then continues looking up front, shoulders not showing any hint of exhaustion from carrying a large bundle of chopped wood in his arms.

“What? And you haven’t answered me yet, oi. You should’ve volunteered someone else to play mule with you.”

“What are you-” Katsura’s voice was sharp. Oh. He forgot about the boy’s previous question.

“Gintoki, a samurai’s duty involves helping the weak. Maybe you should stop sleeping in class so that you don’t keep missing the important stuff.”

“Oi, you insufferable bastard, I know all the important stuff. And dragging someone unwilling to slave away with them is not something sensei would say,” Gintoki retorted. “Are you going to pay me for this? I want five plates of dango.”

Katsura had to sigh again. He really wanted to hit the brat but picking up firewood after a possible scuffle would be terrible. Besides, having a good look at Gintoki’s arms wrapped around the rough wooden shards squeezed his heart with guilt. The other boy is an incurable slob, but there is no doubt that he was right. He did feel guilty for rudely waking Gintoki from his blissful sleep underneath a school yard tree. Seta-kun and other schoolmates were in immediate reach as well. Young Katsura wondered why he asked this lazy slob to help him.

Maybe because it always fascinated him when sunlight kisses Gintoki’s wavy, silver hair. He usually finds excuses to drag the boy outside their dojo. Taking a quick look-see behind him, he feels a wave of fluffy butterfly wings in the pit of his stomach- the usual silver is glowing orange, the waves and curls showing him many different shades. He noted how the peak of the curls are almost blinding white, lightly tinted with gold. The depressions remind him of syrupy honey. For a moment, he thought he saw sparks in Gintoki’s half-lidded eyes. Katsura quickly faces forward again, because he can feel an uncomfortable warmth on his cheeks. If this bastard saw his face, he’ll never hear the end of it.

It’s ridiculous, even for him, but the powerful sun might actually be as impish as the moon. And the bastard behind him.

“Oi! Have you gone deaf? You really should throw away that wig of yours if it’s covering your ears!”

“I’ll buy you one.” Softly, quietly, Katsura’s voice broke free.

Gintoki thought he misheard what the boy said. “Huh?”

Head facing the road in front of him, he said, “I’ll buy you one plate.”

“You’re still a tightwad,” was the answer from behind. The words were spoken by smiling lips.

 

They put away their load in the corner of the small yard, wiping sweat from their brows. The grateful and kindly old woman came shuffling out of the quaint home, offering them perfect-looking onigiri.

“Please have these for your troubles, future-samurai-san,” she said with a very warm smile. Katsura and Gintoki looked at each other before diving into the plate. Plum onigiri. He loves plum onigiri. The particular one he’s eating reminds him of his grandmother. He feels a sense of pride when he realizes that he can live by her, and sensei’s words. She used to be her only family and she taught him to find happiness in the simplest of things. He never knew of prosperity, or of what other people call prosperity. Material things, a lavish lifestyle. As far as he is concerned, they were blessed with the abundance of things that other people are without.

His fond recollection was cut off by Gintoki’s sudden remark. “These are good,” he mumbles while chewing a mouthful of rice. “But I like yours waaaay better.”

Katsura was scandalized. He looked around for the old lady and is relieved to discover that she’s inside the house, oblivious to Gintoki’s insensitive comment.

“W-what are you saying?! If granny heard you.. Well, thankfully she didn’t hear you!” he blabbered frantically. He felt his face grow hot from embarrassment.

Oh, I’m blushing, aren’t I?

Katsura quickly looked away from the offending creature; stared hard into nothing and forced himself to think about ducks. Ducks are good. Not good.. like onigiri.. no, that’s not helping. It’s shameful how happy he is at the moment.

“So you like widows, huh?” Gintoki’s voice managed to push through his garbled thoughts.

He looked at the other boy questioningly.

The white-haired boy never breaks his eye contact, his face passive. Katsura is lost for words, and more importantly, an answer, as he replays the question in his mind over and over again.

Is he talking about granny? Is she a widow? What does he mean by “like”? Like, like Oogushi-kun likes Souko-dono? I find this quite offensive, he thought.

Gintoki raises a finger and Katsura’s eyes follow the length of his arm, to his closed fist, to the extended index finger, and finally to the object of concern.

It was a woman in a pale kimono, gathering dry sheets from the clothesline. Granny’s neighbor. The widow who occasionally visits their school to give them some fruit. Katsura doesn’t even know her name.

What horrible misunderstanding. But he does realize that he did look at her direction for far too long. Looked at her but did not see her. He was too busy trying to get rid of the redness on his face.

This is a bad situation, he declared. The object of his troubles (occasional affections) somehow thinks that he likes older women whose husbands are no longer in their lives. He can almost hear the gears in his head whirring to get him out of this predicament. If the entire class learns of this “preference” of his, he’d be the subject of childish taunting for a while. He can already see Gintoki eliciting laughter at his expense that he’d gladly beat up the grin off his face, no matter what sensei’s punishment might be.

“N-no! How did you end up with that conclusion?” he exclaimed, blushing furiously.

“Ah! Zura’s got himself a crush! You look like a boiled crawfish, maybe she likes boiled crawfish,” Gintoki teased with a mocking grin.

Katsura fumed. He’s not exactly angry that he’s being paired up with a woman. He’s angry because he’s being paired up with a woman by this bastard. There is a sinking feeling in his chest but he doesn’t have the time or attention to acknowledge it. He was about to give the brat’s head a good knocking (to awaken some decency lying comatose inside) when the old lady came out of the house to give them a small basket of oranges. “Future-samurai-san, it’s getting dark so you should probably return to Shouyo-sensei. Take this with you as thanks.”

The two boys thanked her, Katsura bowing politely, and set off towards home. The sky is now painted with dark orange, the setting sun casting their long, black shadows on the dusty road in front of them. They walk in silence, the sound of their straw sandals mingling with cicada song. Gintoki falls back a little, making a little sidestep to the right so that his shadow walks in front of him, not Katsura’s back. He shifts his focus on his companion’s hair as it sways left and right along with the rhythm of his steps.

“I don’t have a crush on that lady,” came a voice in front of him.

Gintoki couldn’t help but smile. He doesn’t understand why it pleased him to hear the words, though even he can tell that there is a ring of sadness in the tone.

“We~ll, I might be able to believe you if you stop being a cheapskate and treat me to five plates of dango tomorrow,” he grinned.

He was stunned when Katsura whips his head back with such a force, his long ponytail almost slapping its owner’s face. “You greedy bastard, are you blackmailing me?!” he screamed incredulously. Gintoki grinned wide. He was strangely elated, and his jaws can’t keep up with the happiness bubbling inside him. “He-he, no, not really. But you should pay me too! Granny gave us this while you’re getting away scott-free?” he retorted. “Don’t you have a heart, Zura?”

Katsura stared at the grinning fool behind him. It took him a moment to realize that Gintoki’s face was split in two by a big (adorable) smile. With the sunset on their backs, the white-haired boy’s face is darkened by the lack of light, his white teeth glinting with glee. Having caught himself staring, he whipped his head again to the front, clearing his throat before he mutters, “Fine, I’ll buy you two plates. But I’ll be eating half.”

“Tch, meanie. I’d only have one plate then.”

Gintoki resumes walking behind Katsura. It’s still easy to walk properly while keeping his peripheral vision on the road, despite the impending darkness of nightfall. Completely unconcerned by this habit he has developed recently, he let himself be hypnotized by the swinging black hair, the white nape that peeks out every now and then, and the steadily reddening ears.

Both faces, hidden from each others’ eyes, light up with synchronous smiles.


	2. Widows and the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Of Widows and Unfaithful Wives. Sakamoto is the star of this jig.

* * *

Of Widows and Unfaithful Wives

Chapter 2: Widows and the Moon

 

Sakamoto Tatsuma admits that he can be loud. He actually fears that after the war ends, he’d be remembered as “the loud-mouthed samurai”. This is quite unfair since he has better traits that are worth remembering: he’s a decent fighter, matching up to their more well-known comrades, Kintoki, Zura, and Takasugi. He’s a passionate business man; able to make impossible deals to ensure that the troops have something to eat everyday. And most importantly, he is very perceptive.

He _knows_ a lot of things that he _shouldn’t_ know.

Too bad, his tact got flushed with his umbilical cord when he was born. Otherwise, his sharp eyes and sharper mind would warrant more than annoyed punches on his face, or a bag of Yakult delivered via flying katana on his ass.

“Stop deluding yourself, you idiot,” a low, drawling voice said.

“Ahahaha-? What are you talking about, Kintoki?”

“If you’re gonna have stupid talks with yourself, at least shut your mouth and spare us the exasperation,” _Gintoki_ replied. “And I’ll make sure that the books remember you as ‘The Loud Person’.”

Takasugi, walking ahead of the group, snorts. “That’s funny coming from you.”

“Shut up, Bakasugi.”

“Ahahahahahaha! You two sure are close!”

“SHUT UP, SAKAMOTO!” Gintoki and Takasugi yelled.

“Don’t gang up on Sakamoto just because his mind can talk.”

Everyone stopped walking and turned to the speaker, each face painted with rather remarkable expressions. Gintoki was first to recover, “Zura, sometimes I forget that you’re weirder than that bastard.”

“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”

“Ahahahahahahahaha! You’re awesome, Zura! Let me treat you to a round later,” Sakamoto happily announced, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulder. Gintoki rolled his eyes and trudged further up front, leaving the idiotic duo behind him.

The four samurais continued their steps to, as Sakamoto suggested it, _conquer_ the red-light district.

 

Red. Every shoddy shop has red paint somewhere on the façade. Yellow light from the lanterns makes Katsura’s eyes hurt. Its glaringly normal color makes all the red banners and highlights bleed filthily. Gintoki and Takasugi are walking ahead of them, looking around in a mixture of wariness and curiosity. He trains his eyes on the perm-head’s white haori, now painted with dirty red lantern flames, shadows of the owner’s plains and contours shifting with every step. He frowns at the obviously excited body language, feeling a twinge in his stomach.

He looks up at the moon, not quite full yet, and swallows a painful lump on his throat. Or chest. He’s not quite sure where the heavy feeling was originating. _Am I coming up with an illness_?

Katsura sets his eyes again on the white figure in front of him, noting some irremovable stains of the battlefield. He gives in to the dirty red illumination, favouring it over the red of blood.

 

“Here! This is the place!” Sakamoto points excitedly at a small shop. _Chamomile._ His three comrades spend a few seconds of awe before following him inside.

Katsura pulls Sakamoto from behind and whispers, “I-I don’t think I can do this.”

Sakamoto raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Zura, it’ll be quite an experience,” he smiles. “Shouldn’t you be more excited for your first time here? Oh, there they are! Hey! Ahahahahahaha!” He waves at some of their comrades, already a little intoxicated (and undoubtedly having fun with the women).  The men (and some, boys just barely out of their teens) called at them heartily, _Sakata-san! Takasugi-san! Katsura-san!_

Sakamoto drags Katsura towards Gintoki and Takasugi. “Okay, let’s choose a lady to have fun with tonight,” he says while curling an arm around one of the women.

They were lined up like dolls in front of a cheap display. A long moment of silence and two fingers point at the same girl. Sparks flew as Gintoki and Takasugi glare at each other.

“I chose her first!” Both shouted at the same time.  The women giggled and whispered among themselves. Finally, the chosen, olive-eyed girl took Takasugi’s side, playfully batting her lashes at him.

Takasugi had to grin smugly at that, Gintoki fuming silently with disbelieving eyes.

Katsura is gulping down the bitterness in his mouth.

Two young women come up to the two unaccompanied samurai, smiling at the ‘noble o-samurai-san’. Before being dragged into a table, Katsura faced his awed companion of the night and said, “I’m terribly sorry, my lady, but I prefer widows.”

For the second time that evening, he managed to earn everyone’s stares, gaping mouths included.

The girl bowed and walked back into the shop display. Katsura walks towards the laughing Sakamoto, _Ahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Wanna get to know me better, miss?_ His back prickled from the reproachful stares of the oiran.

“Sakamoto, I’ll go drink someplace else. Thanks for inviting us tonight.” He gave the seated man a small smile before turning. “Wait, Zura!”

“It’s not, Zura, it’s Katsura.”

“Satsuki taiyu is a widow, she’s famous around here. Ahahahaha! Hope you’ve brought enough money, though. She’s quite expensive.”

“Alright. Thanks again.” He gave Sakamoto a pat on the shoulder and turned to leave. Dark reds eyes follow him stealthily until he disappeared from the doorway.

 

They rarely find peace when the sun is up. Daylight is almost synonymous with battle and sunlight’s new sound is the clashing of metal. When the skies darken into the night, the Amanto (and quite recently, shogunate forces) relent on their attacks. The Joui army will take advantage of the blindness of the night; their expert knowledge on the terrain a wondrous weapon.

They won’t die under the dark blanket of stars, even when the ghosts of daylight start haunting them in their sleep.

When the spirits are high from victory, they would gather and be merry around a big fire. Booze and meat are passed around, laughter chasing away wailings of the dead. Such was the night when Sakamoto sees several pairs of hungry eyes locked intently on wet, black hair framing a pale face, a pale neck, and the visible collarbones partly hidden by a green kimono. It seems that Zura’s taken a bath in the nearby spring.

And the men needed a visit to the red-light district.

 

The moon is finally full, haughtily staring down at the doomed mortals of the earth. On the roof of a shrine gate, a different kind of yaksha is on guard. His long black hair sways softly with the cool breeze, like a shining river under the silver moon. One might think that it was a sorrowful deity, jilted and heartbroken. And _beautiful_. In reality, it was Katsura, watching the horizon for enemies, and nightmares, and traitors.

It has been a quiet solace for him since their venture at the red-light district. He went back to camp directly then, surprising the kind young man who volunteered to guard the place in their absence. _What was his name again? Kurokono-kun?_ He liked how keeping his senses alert distracted him from the dull aching inside his chest.

Clanking of roof tiles and Katsura consciously stops himself from drawing his sword. He looks up at Gintoki holding out a little jug of sake. “You know I can’t drink. Do you want all of us to die in our sleep?”

“Lighten up, Zura. This won’t be enough to knock both of us out.”

Katsura thoughtfully looked at the object. _Maybe a little._ He prides himself for his self-control; he’ll know when to stop. _Before everything becomes something I regret._ Taking the jug in his hands and sipping some of the content, he answered, “It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”

“Heh. You’re welcome.

“So you do like widows, huh.” It wasn’t a question.

Pause. A very long pause. Katsura had to try to remember what a widow is.

The world is overwhelmingly large, and there are beings called women to fascinate men. Somehow, Katsura cannot recall the time he particularly took notice of them. While his comrades talk about them differently (lovely creatures with soft skin and pink feet, to nurturing wives of great strength and calloused palms), he couldn’t figure out a concrete opinion about them. If they are recipients of adoration, then his has long been snatched away by a lazy, bashful, white-haired boy (now a grown man) sleeping in a sunny classroom, cherry blossom petals on his wavy hair.

_Ah_. “Yes,” he replied. Gintoki’s eyes widened very slightly. He blinked and they were back to normal.

“Oh? How was she then?”

“Blinding.”

The stare was making Katsura uncomfortable, but he did not comment on it. He just kept looking at the horizon, wishing for continued peace even just for the night.

“I see.” Gintoki downed some sake and looked into the sky, seemingly lost in thought.

Far below the shrine gate, a pair of strikingly blue eyes watches the two guards. Lying on the cold wooden floor right next to the door-less shrine entrance, Sakamoto wonders if there are other eyes besides his spying on the impromptu tanabata. He _knows_ the truth in what he sees simply because he always looks at things properly.

He has _seen_ the girl Takasugi and Gintoki picked at the shop- she had Zura’s eyes sans the depth, the ferocity, and the mystery. _Zura’s eyes are magical, in a way,_ he muses. It was when he said goodbye that Sakamoto _saw_ the longing in his eyes. Like a widow’s eyes, grieving silently for the love that passed away (in this case, what Zura must have killed himself that night).

He can _see_ the tension in the distance between two shoulders silhouetted by a large full moon, like two opposing banks of the Milky Way.

He can _see_ something very strong yet at the same time, something completely fragile.

Sakamoto turns on his side. Just for a moment, he wished that he took his tact with him growing up. He’ll have to be very careful with his words (they are blunt, considering how sharp his tongue is) and the effort he would need is troubling. He sighs into a snoring comrade lying next to him, listing this mental note high on his priority list. After all, he doesn’t want to be the one to shatter this confusing thing before it even takes form. He’ll leave that to the two idiots in the silver spotlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thanks for reading this. :) Sorry if I got the Satsuki-taiyu (is she really a taiyu? I always had the impression that she was some mythical being in the mountains, but I couldn't find info on her on the internet..) from the Kurokono arc.  
> Next chapter will be the last. :) And of course, Gintama belongs to gorilla-Sorachi-sensei.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfic. Of course, it's going to be ginzura. :) Hopefully I can manage to do this as a chaptered fic.. and er, I really don't know what to say. Thanks for reading. :) Rated M for language. Gintama belongs to Sorachi-sensei.


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